


And Then Darkness Surrounded

by dracoena



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Characters - Well-handled emotions, General, Plot - Disturbing/frightening/unsettling, Plot - Good pacing, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Evocative, Writing - Mythic/Poetic, Writing - Well-handled PoV(s), Writing - Well-handled introspection, Years of the Trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2002-09-13
Packaged: 2018-03-24 17:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3777193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoena/pseuds/dracoena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finwe, High King of the Noldor, waits in Formenos for his son´s return from Taniquetil. As nobody ever had expected, however, Darkness finds him first. A tale of important decisions, wrong and right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Foreword: This is by no means the first fic I write, but it´s the first one  
I post, and the first I ever write in English. So, if the translation is  
deplorable, and anybody would be so kind as to point my mistakes, feel free  
to review and tell me so. But don´t laugh at me! If you do I´ll hear you!

I´m a very long time Spanish fan of "The Silmarillion" of the age of 16  
(nearly 17, though) but I didn´t got the Internet (do you say "got" for  
this?) until three months ago. The first thing that I found striking after  
reading the Silmarillion fics posted was that Finwë seemed to be completely  
forgotten. He isn´t my favourite character, but, as I had written a short  
story about him, I decided to translate it the first.

Formenos

As was usual, the silver light of Telperion fell obliquely over the great  
stone citadel of Fëanaro, plunging it into a radiant pool of gentle light.  
On this particular day, to add further to the magnificent feeling of peace  
and quiet, even the customary activities had been replaced by a heavy  
silence.

Finwë closed his eyes and leaned backwards. The silence...he could not deny  
he preferred it to incessant running and shouting, as when his son was  
there with all his people. It helped him to feel how his thoughts crept  
slowly and in perfect order through his mind, like blood through the veins.  
It was soothing, and it appeased that constant anxiety he was ashamed for  
having let inside his fëa.

If he only could have seen himself as he was now, all those years ago...

Guiltily, he remembered the word he sent to Ingwë, King of the Vanyar, long  
time friend and close kin, only a few days before." While the ban lasts  
upon Fëanor my son, that he may not go to Tirion, I hold myself unkinged,  
and I will not meet my people. Nor will I attend the feasts of the Valar."

"What will he think about me?"

He would for certain be grieved at his friend´s rejection of the bidding of  
the Valar. Perhaps he wanted to know what strange madness had taken him,  
turning the wise King of the Noldor into a rebel like Fëanaro.

The feelings of his own sons he doubted not. For wasn´t Fëanaro threatening  
Nolofinwë with his sword drawn, the day the Powers banished him from  
Tirion? And he, Nolofinwë´s father as well, had sided with the offender.

Finwë knew he should expect nothing but bitterness at their part. And he  
also knew he deserved it.

"And you, Indis. I hurt you, Indis. Will I ever deserve the love you showed  
me then?"

She had never blamed him, and always supported his decissions, as when she  
asked him to go to Formenos, even if that meant leaving her alone.

"Indis" he had said. " you are my wife, and I cannot do this to you. If you  
do not want to come with us, I will not go away."

"I know your mind, my love, I know." was her gentle answer. She took him by  
the hand then, and looked into his eyes, while her rich golden hair glowed  
with the brightness of Laurelin. "But Nolofinwë needs me as your own son  
needs you. They need us, love. We must fulfil our duties towards them."

Why couldn´t he be aware of the sadness deeply engulfed in those beautiful  
lily eyes when she spoke thus and bade him farewell? So great was the hold  
his son had over him? Only at times like this, Fëanaro being away, Finwë  
was able to think clearly and to escape the madness.

What Indis said was true, but it was not all the truth. She was good and  
sensitive aside from wise and beautiful, as were the people of the Vanyar,  
so she refused to grieve him with the tale of the well- known hatred her  
stepson bore towards her. That, of course, made impossible her coming to  
Formenos.

However, Finwë knew too well it was useless, to try to change his mind now.  
Even if he did, nothing would be left of his decisions the very moment in  
which he saw his son again. And he also knew why.

How embarrassing it was to acknowledge all his failures and weaknesses! But  
he had to do it. He had to think clearly, master his pride, and begin to  
tell himself the truth.

By Ilúvatar, by the Valar, how he missed her.

He had thought that he would be able to live with it at first, when he  
courted Indis and married her. He believed then that the radiant blonde  
Vanya could make him forget, but it was not so. Instead, he gradually  
became more and more unhappy, as years passed and the memory of his  
Serindë faded slowly in the minds of all the people that knew her except  
himself. Even Fëanaro, who was always feeling bitter about his mother´s  
fate couldn´t remember her. Indis filled very well the gap left by her  
death, she did for everyone. He loved her with all his heart, they were  
happy together and had had many children. But he still needed to feel that,  
somehow, Míriel was still there near him. And, when Finwë looked at his  
first son, he saw his own wife in him, his lost jewel, entwined with him in  
a long and passionate embrace.

The embrace in which they had conceived him. The only thing that really  
remained of a long and passionate love which began in Cuiviénen only to end  
sadly in the land of the Valar.

The reason why Fëanaro would always mean to him more than any other in the  
Lands of the Living.

Deeply plunged in bittersweet memories, the former king didn´t hear the  
sound of footsteps nearing his chambers and stopping by the threshold of  
his door.

"Finwë, aranya*." ventured a voice he recognised at once by its appealing  
beauty. All his musings were shattered instantly, and he looked in front of  
him to see leaning on the doorcase a somewhat embarrassed son of Fëanaro.

-Greetings, Canafinwë. You may come in.- Finwë said, with a welcoming smile  
at his favourite of Míriel´s grandchildren. That Canafinwë, or Macalaurë,  
as his mother and brothers called him, was in fact much more alike to his  
grandfather than the other sons of Fëanaro. The resemblance was so striking  
that he remembered how his son used to jest about it when Canafinwë was  
younger. "He seems more your child than my own. Perhaps he is really  
yours?" the Spirit of Fire would ask, feigning accusation. But Finwë was  
never offended, and he always smiled back, reminding his son that Ilúvatar  
gave to little Cáno a most singular gift no one else in his family  
possessed, and himself least of all, as he humbly recognised; that is, his  
surprising ability as a singer.  
However, it was true that Canafinwë had inherited his grandfather´s  
preference for contemplative thought and quiet wisdom, while his other  
siblings were as restless as their father.

Well, perhaps not that restless.

"I did not mean to disturb you." that most charming voice began to  
apologise.

"Your presence is never disturbing for me. You know you and your brothers  
are always welcome to my presence.

"Thank you, aranya." Slowly, the young Elf entered the room" I...we were  
just wondering why you never go outside your chambers now. Since my father  
departed for Taniquetil you have not..well, you have not even moved. May I  
ask if you are... perhaps worried?

"Worried?" Finwë couldn´t help feeling amused at the careful watching he  
was submitted to at his son´s absence. "Maybe I am...but you certainly  
are."

Canafinwë made a movement of surprise at his grandfather´s perceptiveness,  
quickly noticed by Finwë.

"I wish my father was here now. I have dreams..."

"Dreams?" echoed Finwë. "Dreams about what?"

Feeling now a bit ashamed, Canafinwë shook his head. Surely he hadn´t come  
to upset his grandfather with his wild visions.

"They are of no importance. I...I do not even remember them."

The former King of the Noldor suppressed a frown at that, but he didn´t  
press his grandson further. It was not his way.

Instead, he smiled again to ease Cáno´s distress.

"I am always warning you against taking large dinners before going to  
sleep. Now, go to bed. You need rest."

Canafinwë smiled. For a moment, it had seemed as if he was about to say  
something more, but changed his mind in time.

"Shall I tell my father that you nearly succeeded in turning into a  
statue?"

"Ai, no! I will go outside for a stroll, I promise."

Now the two of them, grandfather and grandson, weren´t able to suppress a  
laugh, and Canafinwë seemed to have forgotten all about his gloomy  
thoughts. Glad at least for him, Finwë rose, and, motioning the young Elf  
to follow, he walked out of the room.  
Fëanaro´s second son went shortly after.

"Good night, aranya."

(To be continued)

*aranya: my king.  
Note for Quenya names: Fëanaro is Fëanor, and Canafinwë is the father-name  
of Maglor. Serindë was Míriel´s epessë, meaning "Broideress".


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finwe, High King of the Noldor, waits in Formenos for his sons return from Taniquetil. As nobody ever had expected, however, Darkness finds him first. A tale of important decisions, wrong and right.

Telperion was already beginning to mingle with Laurelin when Finwë reached  
the central courtyard, and their unique light, so many times sung in the  
merry songs of the people of the Eldar, coloured the warm air in a way  
even the Valar found delightful. However, the king of the Noldor scarcely  
slowed his pace to take pleasure at the sight. He was eager, so eager to  
look upon another brightness of even greater beauty and wonder.

One by one, he went down the long stairs which brought to the entrance of  
the cold subterranean treasure chambers, and whispering a spell Fëanaro had  
taught him alone, he felt the door opening, and the warmth that embraced  
his hröa.

It embraced him as Míriel had done thousands of years before, under the  
stars of Middle Earth. It remembered him too of Fëanaro´s embrace, when he  
was no more than a child who loved his father with all his heart.

However, he knew it was a quite different thing that shone down there. It  
was not love, but the Star Jewels, Fëanaro´s own creation, the likes of  
which had never been seen before in Aman. Their light could heal or burn  
his fëa, and this something was dangerous for the person who looked at  
them.

Just like Fëanaro.

Fortunately, as with his son, Finwë succeeded nearly always in tempering  
them with his own fëa. That he was going to do now, once again.

Still...

Finwë suppressed a frown, as he undid the magic lock and all the rest of  
the protections Fëanaro had put to the hoard of the Silmarils. It had  
seemed to him that he could perceive a strange sensation inside...perhaps  
fear. Was it his own imagination?

"What is the matter with you?" he asked gently, taking them in his hands,  
as he would with any of his own children- or grandchildren, even great-  
grandchildren now. He loved the Silmarils very much, for they were the only  
thing he had from his dearest son when Fëanaro was away. He held them dear  
also because his son did, and because, in a strange way, he knew the  
Silmarils liked him as well, for they shared the mind of their maker.

Startled, Finwë became more and more aware of the growing distress in the  
light. Something was not well. He did not know why, but memories found  
again a path into his mind, and they were most distinct and clear, as they  
were recent...only from a few days ago.

It was Fëanaro, his son, thundering as he came upstairs, the might of his  
fury burning into his eyes. So deeply engulfed was he in his anger, that he  
didn´t see his father coming down, and they collided.

" Clear out of my way! You..oh, it´s you, atarinya.*" Fëanaro corrected  
himself in time. He never adressed his father as "aranya", his king, like  
his brothers and sons did. Finwë was for him first and foremost a father,  
and only after that could be something else. In fact, the king sometimes  
wondered if he was Fëanaro´s king at all. When a young boy, he never  
hesitated before bursting into the most important counsels to show him a  
new game or a toy he had invented or crafted, and now, many years older, he  
hadn´t changed in the least. He still needed to have his father alone, as  
with the Silmarils and many other things. That was his way...

"Are the Silmarils locked?" he asked abruptly. Finwë, a little bewildered,  
didn´t answer at once.

"What?... Yes, Fëanaro, of course. They are always locked, unless when you  
yourself take them with you. Why?"

"It´s...never mind, atarinya. I am going now to look at them.

"Fëanaro" The king didn´t like being dismissed at all, even by his own son.  
So, more firmly, he seized him by the tunic to prevent him from rushing  
away, as he was about to do, and stared at him.

Fëanaro was forced then to meet a determined pair of grey and piercing  
eyes.

"Is something happening that I do not know?"

"I do not believe there is anything worth knowing."

"But I want to know it now."

So even the Spirit of Fire had this time to yield, albeit grudgingly, to  
his father´s demand.

"I had an argument. With Melkor the Vala."

"An argument?"

"Aye, or whatever way you wish to call it. He wanted to keep the Silmarils.  
My Silmarils! I refused, and he went away, furious. He dared even to hint  
that he helped me in their crafting! He! It is a lie. You know it is! But  
this did not stop that presumptuous liar...

"Fëanaro, stop!" Finwë shouted. It was the first time he raised his voice,  
so he himself was surprised at the sound. From whence came that sudden  
passion?

Only because of an argument?

Maybe it was the remembrance of the foul deeds of Melkor before he got  
imprisoned in Mandos´ halls. Or maybe Fëanaro´s grim stare, the cold spark  
in his eyes when he repeated that the Silmarils were his own.

He didn´t like it.

"The Silmarils are really insuperable works of your hands, the finest works  
ever made by the craft of the Eldar, but you know they are not yours alone.  
Even if by your skill they shine with a far more magnificent radiance, the  
light inside them is no other than the light of the Two Trees, grown by the  
magic of the Valië Yavanna. Yes, you once knew all this, but you have  
become too proud now! And the life inside the Silmarils is not yours  
either, for it came from Ilúvatar, the only being with power to give or  
take it. Do not forget it ever, and respect the Valar, who taught us  
everything we know, and Melkor no less, for he is one of them, and long ago  
they understood that he deserved to be forgiven for all his past wrongs.

Finwë´s strong rebuke, surprisingly enough, did not anger Fëanaro further,  
as it would had anyone else uttered it. On the contrary, his father´s  
displeasure shocked him and caused him much distress. Finwë didn´t remember  
having seen him so helpless since when, so many years ago and being little  
more than a young adolescent, he had been rude to Indis. She was Finwë´s  
betrothed by then, and the king´s anger was so great that he refused to  
speak to his son until formal excuses were presented to her. Fëanaro,  
unable to bear it, made peace with the forgiving and kind Vanya the same  
day.

Would that he had been as adamant years later. Perhaps much damage could  
have been averted.

"Forgive me, atarinya, you are right. I should not have been so proud. "

Fëanaro muttered as he lowered his eyes for a moment. However, he was again  
looking at Finwë, eager to see if his apology had brought again the love  
that usually dwelt in his gaze." It is very difficult for me to respect  
Melkor. He is untrustworthy, and I think he must be hiding something from  
us. More than once, I have surprised a look of cunning in his eyes when we  
talk about my...about the Silmarils, and that was why I could not bear the  
thought of his hands pawning at them. They..they too dislike him.  
"But, atarinya , if you want me to make peace with him, I will do so.

"Well, if you really want to make peace with someone, why not start with  
your brother Nolofinwë?" Finwë snapped back. He knew it was an useless  
question, because Fëanaro didn´t even want to hear about it.

To his intense surprise, his son nodded seriously.

"You are right again. I was thinking about it.

"What?"

"Yes. It seems that I now can understand lots of things." Fëanaro ended  
enigmatically, before attempting a new apology." Are you angry still?  
Please, do not doubt my respect for the Valar."

As always, Finwë´s heart melted at the ardent plea of his beloved son, and  
he wasn´t able to hide a smile.

"I know, yonya.* By the way, what about that invitation for the festival?"

"I will go" his son answered promptly. "Manwë has asked me to, and I am not  
going to displease him again, I promise.

The exiled king shook his head to forget the intense thoughts brought to  
his mind by the Silmarils´ presence, and by the feeling of dread they were  
communicating, and he tried to concentrate. What should have worried him?  
Fëanaro´s behaviour? No, for he had been on a very good mood nearly all the  
time of the conversation. He even said he intended to make peace with his  
brother and, although Finwë did not believe it, it was nonetheless a good  
sign.

Then it was the behaviour of Melkor.

It seemed that his son had suspicions about the Vala, and Finwë wasn´t sure  
if he should believe him or not. On the one hand, Melkor had a past...and  
not a very good one. He hunted for Elves and took them prisoners when they  
were in Middle- Earth. The Valar encouraged them to believe in his  
reformation, but he had always felt guilty about that, for he had his  
doubts. Never had he encouraged Fëanaro´s friendship with him, even as he  
saw it was good for his son´s improvements at his skills.

On the other hand, Fëanaro was not a very good judge of minds and  
character. Finwë hated to say so about his son, but it was the truth and  
the reason why the great Spirit of Fire had made so many mistakes.

As he had, too. And to know that the Silmarils were frightened of Melkor  
only made him feel worse than ever.

"Do you fear Melkor? It is because he tried to take you away?" he asked in  
a whisper. The light grew more intense, and, then, it nearly disappeared  
for a moment.

Then you are wiser than I, he thought bitterly. For I have failed in  
everything. I could not bring peace into my own house, my people fight each  
other, Míriel lies dead in Mandos´ Halls, and Indis is left alone in  
Tirion. Now, I was so engulfed in my own griefs that I was unable to sense  
the true danger as I am doing at last.

"Do not fear, Fëanaro will protect you... as I will do while he is away.

Slowly, after some timid sparkles, the Silmarils began shining again with  
their calm and unalterable glow, cold and burning at the same time, which  
filled the fëa of the lonely king with something akin to determination  
while he calmed them down.

Now, all should be well...should it?

He hoped so.

"Farewell" With great care, Finwë laid the Jewels in their proper place  
again and, after a last glance at them, he closed the hoard and walked  
towards the door. Now, he should perhaps rest at last, as he promised  
Canafinwë. There was nothing more he could do, in fact.

And then, all of a sudden, darkness surrounded.

The End

*atarinya: my father.

*yonya: my son.

Note for Quenya names: Fëanaro is the mother-name of Fëanor ( his father-  
name is Curufinwë), and Canafinwë is the father- name of Maglor. Nolofinwë  
is the father-name of Fingolfin. As to why does Finwë call his son by his  
mother-name, Tolkien says that everybody did so, and Finwë most of all  
should want to honour his wife, I think.

You may be asking why I said at the last chapter that the love of Finwë and  
Míriel began in Middle- Earth, when Tolkien purposely says that "the love  
of Finwë and Míriel was great and glad, for it began in the Blessed Realm  
in the Days of Bliss." Well, I´m afraid you´ll have to forgive me, but as I  
prefer the other version ( I even wrote a tale about them two in Middle-  
Earth years ago), I assume that Tolkien only refers to their betrothing or  
"legal" love.

Well, so until next story ( a NC-17, I believe). Nai tiruvantel ar  
varyuvantel i Valar tielyanna nu vilya!


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finwe, High King of the Noldor, waits in Formenos for his sons return from Taniquetil. As nobody ever had expected, however, Darkness finds him first. A tale of important decisions, wrong and right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the information used for making this chapter was taken from the

Yes, I also thought the story was finished at last. But look! an epilogue  
popped out. I have not written about Finwë´s death, as you can see ( too  
much gore), but I was very intrigued about how the meeting with Míriel  
could have developed, and so I made it. So, if it is enjoyable, I invite  
you to enjoy!

 

 

"But Melkor also was there, and he came to the house of Fëanor, and there  
he slew Finwë King of the Noldor before his doors, and spilled the first  
blood in the Blessed Realm; for Finwë alone had not fled from the horror of  
the Dark." (Silm, 9: Of the Flight of the Noldor.)

So he was now dead. The first being murdered by violence in the land of  
Aman he was. And he had fled his shattered hröa for good.

Finwë, who was High King of the Noldor, could not hear the lament of his  
people when the tidings of his death were brought to the Ring of Doom. Nor  
was he aware of the desperate cries summoning him back that echoed in the  
darkness of the broken stronghold, when his son, crazed by grief, pressed  
his lips to his broken skull and brooded on his wild thoughts of revenge.

He was now nothing more, and nothing less, that a pure fëa without hröa,  
floating eerily through the empty and cold Halls of the Vala Mandos. He  
didn´t know where he was going and why, too stunned yet with what had  
happened to him a short while ago.

The black spider and the accursed Vala had tried to attack Formenos and  
carry away the Silmarils. He tried to protect them, but the monster wrought  
a fatal sticky thread around him, so he couldn´t even defend himself  
against Melkor´s dreadful blows. And he had failed once again.

"Even unable to protect your own house you were at the end", he thought  
bitterly.

"You could not possibly have done anything, my love."

Unable at first to believe he had really heard that voice, Finwë looked  
around.

"¡Míriel!" he tried to cry, but then he realised he hadn´t got a voice  
anymore, as the shadow that stood before him. It was her thoughts he had  
heard.

"I was waiting for you, my love" those thoughts flooded to his mind, and  
they embraced. It was a very strange embrace, because none of them had a  
hröa and their fëar were both mingled and confused, although it wasn´t at  
all a painful sensation. Rather, the tickling that Finwë experienced inside  
when Míriel traversed him made him feel he was whole at last.

For a very long time, none of them did move, until, finally, he who broke  
the embrace.

"Terrible things have happened" he stated, concerned again.

"Tell me how our son fares. They seldom give me tidings down here." Míriel  
asked then, looking into her former husband´s eyes.

But Finwë wasn´t able to meet her gaze, and he turned away.

"I cannot say. I stayed at home, and he went away. Maybe...maybe he is in  
danger. Our grandsons might be dead now, too.

"No, they are not, for they would be here." she answered gently. "Now the  
Valar are assembled, and even Mandos is away from his Halls. They will find  
a way to protect our kindred against the evil Vala.

Finwë tried to believe in that, but he found that he couldn´t. The horror  
he had seen was so powerful and full of evil that the deep impression it  
caused in him lasted even after his own death. He began to think with  
foresight, and for a moment, he thought he could see the sorrows that his  
people were going to endure, and shuddered.

How could he be there, in peace, and enjoying the company of his beloved  
first wife, while his sons, his grandchildren, his people, and Indis...?

Indis. His wife.

"Míriel..."

"Do not worry. You are temporarily freed from your bond, until your return  
to the world. And she will wait for you."

As Míriel said that, realisation finally dawned upon Finwë. He had been  
thinking that he should return to Aman as swiftly as he could, and try to  
make amends for his past errors. Returning from the dead, perhaps, he would  
be able to avert the doom of the Noldor, which he felt that was drawing  
near. To speak with his son again...

But now he was aware that it was not possible, he also knew what he must  
do. Hard as it would be, he had to.

"Míriel, you must go and speak to Fëanaro now."

His wife looked at him incredulously.

"What did you say? Me...go away? But I cannot!"

"Only if I am alive. That was the doom of the Valar. But I will stay here."

"Finwë!" Míriel was shocked ." Why?"

"Because you will know how to ease Fëanaro´s pain better . Because he longs  
to see you. Because you are wiser than I. Because I feel marred, and  
unable to do the task myself. And because I caused you pain and you  
sacrificed yourself for my sake.

"Do not think it is going to be an easy task to be alive, now that Evil has  
awakened. I would that the circumstances were better, my dear."

"But Indis is waiting for you."

"Yes. " For a moment, Finwë was in pain about the decision he was going to  
make. "Go and tell her that I love her. And tell my sons, too. Not only  
Fëanaro...but all of them."

 

 

And so it was that Finwë relinquished his claim to dwell once again in the  
World of the Living, and his first wife Míriel came again to see the  
Blessed Realm. Unfortunately, when she arrived, she learned of the flight  
of the Noldor, and of her son´s rebellion against the will of the Valar.  
Never again did she see him and, in pain, she left her people, now ruled by  
her stepson Finarfin with the help of his mother Indis, the Vanya. And she  
went again to seek the counsel and help of the Valar, who made her a  
handmaiden of Vairë, and entrusted her forever with the task of weaving  
tapestries with the fate of Arda Marred. As for Finwë, he never was known  
to return from the Halls, so he most surely remained there forever.

(Note: All the information used for making this chapter was taken from the  
Silmarillion and from "Morgoth´s ring", a volume of the HoME. Suppositions,  
however, are mine.


End file.
